


rings

by Anonymous



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Blow Jobs, Cheating, Hand Jobs, Holidays, Jealousy, M/M, Parent/Child Incest, Pre-Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-13 21:55:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29035803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: John, Dean and Sam finally reunite for the holidays since Sam left for Stanford. Unfortunately, Sam has a surprise announcement for the family.
Relationships: John Winchester/Sam Winchester
Kudos: 15
Collections: Anonymous





	rings

The Winchesters didn’t do holidays well.

After Mary, holidays were spent on the road. John had tried for the first three years. That first Christmas, he’d found a small cabin in Wyoming. Showed Dean the snow and had a few things for him to open. The next year, there was a Shritga down in Nevada and he’d left the boys at Bobby’s. The next year, John couldn’t afford more than a bucket of chicken and a toy from the gas station for each of them.

Sam hadn’t been old enough to remember when John tried.

After Sam left for Stanford, Thanksgivings were spent with Dean finding a nice diner with decent pie. If John was around, they met up for dinner. John was rarely around.

This year, John had rented a house in Berkley. Close enough for Sam to join and far enough for him to pretend John wasn’t hoping for anything.

Sam came alright. And he’d brought a friend. A professor of mythos, Dr. Robert McKenzie. Twice Sam’s age and way too close, judging by the arm wrapped around Sam’s waist. John watched sternly as Sam climbed the steps to the porch, his face blank.

“Dad,” he greeted. His eyes widened and softened as they landed on his brother. “Dean,” he greeted warmly, wrapping him in a hug.

Robert hung back, watching curiously. When he came closer, he held out a hand for John to shake. John ignored it, touching Sam’s shoulder. “Come on inside, son. We’re still working on dinner.”

Robert sat beside Sam at the table, his arm draped over the back of Sam’s chair.

They kept conversation light during dinner. Nothing too deep. Nothing about hunting. Conversation shifted to Robert’s work compiling research on urban legends and mythical creatures. Veered dangerously close to John and Dean’s work, but Sam steered around it expertly. John wondered why he preferred to spend time with someone who obviously reminded him of the family business.

“So, why’d Sam bring you along, doc?” Dean asked, sipping his beer.

Sam’s cheeks flushed, head lowered with a shy smile. “We’re, uh, we’re engaged,” he replied.

Stomach twisting, John looked to Robert and then Sam with a shake of the head “No, you’re not.”

Dean sat silently, still reeling from the news.

“What do you mean, no we’re not?” Sam bit out.

“You’re not doing anything with a man old enough to be your father.”

“Who cares? I’m twenty.”

“You’re half his age!”

“I’m an adult!”

“You can’t even legally drink.”

“Old enough to get married,” Sam said plainly.

Robert cleared his throat. “Mr. Winchester, I didn’t get your blessing and I’m sorry. I just recently found out you weren’t,” he cut himself off, “I recently learned more about you. I love your son.”

“I can’t listen to this,” John said, standing from the table. He grabbed a jacket and left the house.

“Same old dad,” he heard Sam mutter.

“Can you blame him for being caught off guard?” Dean said.

“Take his side. You always do.”

“I’m not taking anyone’s side. Give him some time. Christ, Sammy.”

* * *

Sam was in the kitchen making breakfast the next morning, a flannel shirt hanging off his shoulder. A line of dark purple marks on his neck, disappearing beneath the flannel shirt. John bit his tongue and headed straight for the coffee machine.

“There’s a hunt, isn’t there?” Sam asked, but it didn’t sound like a question.

“Simple ghoul a few miles away. Jim used to own this cabin. I borrow it a few times out of the year.”

Sam’s mug came down hard on the counter, nearly shattering. “A few times? Since when?”

One of the most remarkable things about Sam was how every conversation with him was a minefield. John wasn’t even sure what he’d stepped in this time.

“Since we met, just about.”

Sam nodded to himself, a grim smile on his face. “You’ve been less than an hour away from me a few times out of the year since I went to Stanford. And you never bothered to visit.”

_ Shit. _

“Sam,” he began, watching as Sam held up a hand and headed for the doorway. John covered his face. “I did,” he said finally.

Sam paused, barefoot on the tile floor. “What?”

“I did,” John repeated, dropping his hand. Sam stared at him, his mouth a thin line. “A few times out of the year.”

Realization set in and Sam’s eyes widened. “Why? Why’d you never—”

“Why do you think? You left. You threw your whole ‘new life’ in our faces. What would I look like knocking on your door less than a year later?”

“So, what? It was pride?”

“You never called! You know how risky it is for us to keep the same phones on us more than a few months but I kept that one for two years. You never even tried to call me.” He rubbed his eyes, leaning back against the counter. “You’re my son. Even when you’re being a stubborn little shit, you’re my son. Of course, I checked on you.”

“I don’t believe you.”

John gaped at him. “What, you want proof? I know you stayed in the dorms for two years. I know your roommate was barely around and spent all of his time with some redhead. I saw you with some blonde a few times. Thought maybe she’d stick around but then you show up here with him and,” he bit his lip. “I don’t know how I missed that.”

Sam’s face softened. He moved in closer, hands sliding into his pockets. “I grew up, Dad.”

John thought about that ring on his finger, how those marks on his neck got there and forced himself to take a deep breath. “You don’t know what you’re getting into, kiddo.”

Sam left the room. “I know more than you do.”

* * *

The hunt wasn’t simple after all.

Dean and John get halfway to the abandoned cabin when they hear screams. A group of teenagers that thought the haunted cabin was a great place to lose their virginity. John tasks Dean with getting them out and takes on the ghoul alone.

Only it’s not a ghoul; it’s an angry spirit. And she’s got a friend.

John was thrown through two walls, lost his shotgun in the second and cracked his collarbone before he gets to the iron fireplace pokers. He swings, buying enough time to search the cabin for any sign of what was keeping it here. No one had died here, from what he and Dean read at the library.

Dean returns, eyes wide at the wreckage. He finds an upturned wooden board on the floor in the bedroom and he doesn’t need to see what’s underneath.

The ghosts go up in flames and John would be relieved if it weren’t for the jagged pain in his chest. He can barely make it to the truck without help.

It’s late when they return to the cabin. They try to be quiet but Sam appears at the top of the stairs.

“Dean? Dad?” He descends a few steps, eyes widening as he gets a closer look at him. “Dad!”

He hurries down to help Dean take him to the kitchen. They sit Dean down in a chair and Dean goes to get the first aid kit. He’s dead on his feet, his hands clumsy and dumb, so Sam sent him away.

Sam sat down across from him at the table with a light glare. John sighed, too exhausted to argue. “We had a job.”

“I know.”

“This is part of the job,” John said as Sam laid out the materials.

“I know.” He picked up the swab and started in on the gash on John’s face. “Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

He worked quietly, methodically, as though it hadn’t been three years since he’d had to do this. Go figure, Robert looked like he’d never been in a fight with anything scarier than the common cold. A lot of good he’d be if they went out and someone got on their bad side or they encountered a were or a vampire unexpectedly. Robert would be completely useless and John’s son would be as good as dead—

“Stop it,” Sam spat. John raised his head to find Sam glaring at him, eyes fierce. Had John said all of that out loud? “He knows more than you think.”

“You told him about the life?”

Sam’s brow furrowed as he set about bandaging John’s arm. “Not exactly.”

“Then he’s useless. He can’t protect you from what’s out there.”

“And you can?” He levelled John with a pointed stare. “I know enough. I can keep us safe.”

“You’re just a boy.”

“Stop saying that.” He leaned back in his chair with a huff. “I was never a regular kid. You made sure of that. He makes me happy and that’s all I’m focused on right now.”

John rolled his eyes as Sam took up the bandages again. “Happy ain’t better than safe.”

“Say that again. I was busy keeping you from bleeding out.”

John sat back, a gasp escaping. Something sharp stabbed him in the chest and he covered the space with a grimace. Sam cursed, standing up and moving in closer. He smelled of berries and citrus, no doubt some fruity shampoo he’d brought along. Sam helped him raise his shirt above his head carefully, eyes focused and worried. Lip caught between his teeth as John’s chest came into view.

“Why didn’t you say something?” Sam demanded, tossing the cotton aside as he gently touched the area around John’s collarbone. It was cracked, John was pretty sure of that. Even so, he was bleeding pretty badly from an open wound above the bone. Sam rushed to stop the bleed, hazel eyes harried when they landed on John.

“I didn’t think it was a big deal. Nothing’s broken.”

“This is bad. We should’ve taken you to a hospital.”

“It’s fine.”

“You could have broken bones, you don’t know,” Sam bit out, reaching for the gauze with shaky hands.

John touched his shoulder, rasping, “It’s fine, Sammy. Really. I’ll be okay.”

Sam held his gaze for a long moment. Almost as if he was waiting for John to pass out to call for an ambulance. He’d done that once when he was eight. Smart enough to know that was the only way he’d get John to a hospital when Dean wasn’t around to drive. Smart enough to know his dad would’ve never let him call if he was awake.

Finally, Sam set to work patching him up.

When he was done, he helped John up the stairs. John sank down on the edge of the bed, accepting the painkillers. “Thanks, Sammy.”

Sam studied him for a long moment. Then, he slowly leaned down, kissing the corner of John’s mouth. John’s heart beat fast in his chest, his brain barely able to process the soft press of his lips. Sam stepped back, his face lost in shadow.

“Night, Dad.”

* * *

The next day, John made his way down the stairs on his own.

Sam was sitting on the couch watching TV, bundled beneath a blanket. Upon seeing John, he scowled. “Should you be up and walking around?”

“I’m not that frail.”

Sam rolled his eyes, watching as John carefully sat down on the couch next to him. He shared the blanket, revealing a pair of plaid sleep pants.

“Where’s Dean?”

“Went out to get some food.”

“Meaning beer.”

The corner of Sam’s mouth turned up. “I sent Robert with him to make sure he brings back something solid.”

“You were always the smart one.”

Sam’s smile dimmed, his eyes softening. He shifted around on the couch, laying his head on John’s lap. It took John a few seconds before he felt brave enough to run his fingers through Sam’s hair. Longer now than he’d ever seen it. He’d fought with the kid time and time again to cut it when he’d been younger. It was an easy target for any creature to grab hold of it during a fight. Seeing it now, John was kind of glad he never won that argument.

Sam caught his free hand, twirling the ring on John’s finger absently. It made John smile, even as his chest tightened. “Why do you still…” Sam trialed off, tilting his head back. “Doesn’t it chase women away?”

“It attracts the ones that only want less than half an hour with me. That’s all I can handle. Anything else and I feel guilty.”

Sam’s eyes widened in shock. “IT’s been over twenty years.”

“You’ll understand,” John said, carding his fingers through Sam’s hair.

Sam lowered his head, focused on John’s hand. He twirled the ring. “I know you don’t like Robert.”

“It’s my job not to.”

The corner of Sam’s mouth turned up. He twirled the ring again.

Sam fell asleep during a marathon of I Dream of Jeannie.

His breath soft and warm on John’s thigh as he snored quietly. John sat still as long as he could, carding his fingers through Sam’s hair. Finally, his body started to protest, his injuries causing him grief. Well past time for him to take another dose of painkillers.

He touched Sam’s cheek, rasping, “Sam? Sam, come on.” He shifted forward a bit, “Come on, baby. Wake up.”

Sam’s eyes fluttered open, drawing John’s attention to those long, beautiful lashes that had never seemed meant for a boy. On a face with angular cheekbones, hazel fox eyes and a mouth that only ever seemed to curl up in sarcastic little grins; true smiles on the rarest of occasions. Sam’s eyes land on John and steal his breath away, a sleepy smile spreading across his face.

John strokes his cheek with his thumb, “C’mon. Let’s get you upstairs.”

Sam swallowed audibly, his tongue sliding over his lips. John followed the motion, lost in the way Sam’s looking at him. It felt new and somehow familiar at the same time. As if Sam had looked at him that way quite a few times in the past and John had never noticed. But how could that be possible? John knew damn well what that look was.

Lust.

“Sammy,” he rasped, smoothing circles over the light scratch of the shadow on Sam’s cheek. His thumb slides down to trace over Sam’s lips, hearing the quiet intake of breath as Sam’s mouth falls open further. “Baby,” he murmured, as the tip of his finger slipped inside Sam’s mouth.

Sam moans, eyes half lidded as his tongue slid over the digit. John’s stomach tightened sharply, his cock hardening fast enough he was dizzy with it. The sight of Sam’s plump, pretty, pink lips wrapped around his finger, giving light little sucks that made John’s cock pulse in envy. Sam’s lashes flutter over his cheeks, arching as the blanket slid down and revealed the hardness barely hidden in sweatpants. There’s a light graze of teeth as a spike of arousal shot down John’s spine. It was jarring enough that he realized what he was doing.

He made to pull back, his stomach twisting in discomfort. Sam held tight to his wrist. His eyes snapped open, meeting John’s sharply, pupils blown out. He let John’s finger slip out of his mouth with a soft pop, his lips slick and wet. It was almost enough to make John cry, his cock throbbing painfully in his pants.

Sam held his gaze, challenging him as he pulled John’s hand down to his chest. Heart pounding, John spread his palm across Sam’s sternum, his cotton t-shirt threadbare and thin. His fingertips brushed over a hard nipple, drawing a quiet gasp. John circled it, giving into the urge to earn more of those little responses. Travelling further down to play at the sliver of bare skin above Sam’s waistband, fingers trailing through the light trail leading further down.

His eyes held Sam’s, waiting with bated breath as his fingers hovered. He could stop. Take his hand back, claim temporary insanity, go upstairs and pretend this never happened. It was on the tip of his tongue: an apology, an excuse, an order. Anything to get him up and far, far away where he couldn’t do this.

His hand slipped beneath the waistband, taking hold of Sam in a firm grip. Sam’s breath caught, hips bucking as John slowly stroked his length. He’s heavy, long enough that John bet he never felt self-conscious about it. It was a thought that occurred with a strange flare of pride as Sam’s precome wet his hand. He gathered it in his palm, slicking his hand as he worked Sam’s cock.

Sam struggled to keep his eyes open, his breathing labored as his hips rolled upward. God, he was beautiful like this, the light flush to his cheeks, the soft little moans as his hands gathered John’s shirt just to have something to cling to. The little whine that escaped when John played with one of his sensitive little nipples.

“Daddy,” Sam panted, his lip caught between his teeth.

Shivering, John was so focused on watching him that he didn't notice Sam tugging at his zipper. He was out and exposed before he knew any better. Eyes wide as he watched Sam kiss the tip gently before lapping at the slit. Groaning, John’s cock pulsed in Sam’s grip, arousal warring with the discontent at how expertly Sam worked him. The practiced way he stroked the length and took the head into his mouth. He didn’t struggle to take it further into his mouth, sucking ardently as he pushed into John’s lazy grip.

As hard as John found it to think, his mind was filled with flashes of Sam and Robert. His mouth on Robert’s cock, Robert’s hands in Sam’s hair, that ring on his finger as he touched John’s son. As if he owned him, as Sam was his.

John’s fingers slipped into Sam’s hair, holding tight and drawing Sam’s gaze. He kept Sam in place, sliding back so that only the tip of his cock rested on Sam’s tongue. Angling Sam’s head, he watched Sam’s eyes flutter in pleasure at the slight pain of it before he focused on John’s again. John’s cock pulsed in Sam’s mouth before he pulled Sam’s head down slowly, watching as he took him inch by inch.

He set a slow rhythm, savoring it as he stroked Sam with his other hand. Sam’s breathing grew heavier, panting as he tried to keep still, eager to behave for the first time in his life. With a clever twist, John earns a buck of Sam’s hips and moan before he forces himself still once more.

“Good boy, Sam,” he praises, earning a shiver. He strokes him faster, keeping up the slow slide of his cock into Sam’s mouth. Even slow, he was finding it harder and harder to keep a cool head. The slow build of his release was burning its way up his spine, stomach tensing with every soft suck and graze of teeth. “So good for me, baby.”

Sam’s hands tightened in the blanket, his control slipping. Every pass of John’s hand earned a slight buck of the hips and a stifled moan. John worked him faster, letting more and more of his cock fill Sam’s mouth until his lips touched the base and he held him there. With a stifled keen, Sam’s cock pulsed hard as he came, wet and warm in his sweatpants.

“Fuck, Sam,” John rasped, working him through it. He released Sam’s hair as Sam pulled off. He suckled at the head, eyes shut in pleasure as John took care of him. “So beautiful. My beautiful boy,” he murmured.

Drained, Sam turned over on his stomach. He took John’s cock in hand, working the base before slipping it into his mouth again. It had almost been too much when John made it last. Now, Sam pulled out all of the stops, sucking hard and bobbing his head as he massaged John’s balls with his hand. Eyes rolling back, John tried to focus, tried to keep his eyes on those swollen pink lips spread wide around his cock. But he’d been close before and feeling Sam come in his hand had brought him close to the edge.

Sam’s hair fell into his eyes. John gathered it in his clean hand, pushing into Sam’s mouth. Sam whined as he took it, eyes holding John’s. “I’m close, baby,” he warned. Sam moved in closer, resting comfortably on the couch as John spilled across his tongue. “That’s it. Take it, baby. Take it for Daddy.”

Sam swallowed obediently, waiting until John released him to pull back. He cleaned the stray strands with his tongue, kissing the head almost teasingly before he sat up on his knees.

John waited – for the inevitable rush of guilt and shame. The disgust at what he’d done; what he’d consciously done knowing that it was wrong. The fear of what would happen if someone – if Bobby, if  _ Dean _ found out what he’d done.

Sam’s hand landed on John’s bare thigh, a cold object touching his skin. John startled, finding the engagement ring on Sam’s finger. Stomach churning, his eyes returned to Sam’s. Sam seemed thoughtful more than anything else, the space between them less tense than it had been in ages.

John slid his fingers into Sam’s hair and pulled him close, pressing a kiss to his forehead. Then his nose. Hesitating, he felt Sam’s warm breath of his lips, the slight movement as Sam made to move forward. Warming, John allowed it, pressing their lips together. It was a sweet kiss, almost shy which is strange considering what they’d done. Sam pulled away with a sigh, nosing into John’s throat and holding there.

John waited. But the guilt never came. 


End file.
